Are we raising incompetent human beings?

When I was growing up, my father, a confirmed male chauvinist and bachelor, may he rest in peace, used to say to me, "There's nothing more useless than a woman who can't cook and can't drive." (We shall ignore the fact that this was a man who ate Pepperidge Farm oatmeal raisin cookies for breakfast, along with half a grapefruit or cantaloupe, which his cleaning woman would halve for him.)

At the time, my response was, Why when you live in New York City does a woman need to cook or drive?!

Oh how times have changed. Dad, you were right.

But it isn't just girls who should know how to cook and drive -- and know how to keep a checkbook, and do laundry, and shop on a budget -- before they go off to college. It's boys, too.

Maybe it's because I was the only child of a single working mom, but by the time I was 13 I was doing my own laundry, making my bed and cleaning my room (daily), and cooking. And I could sew a button on and darn holes in clothes. A few years later, I was buying my own clothes on a budget.

Yet I am constantly surprised by how few teenagers today, or maybe it's just suburban teens of well-off parents, know how to take care of themselves. Maybe this isn't a new problem, and I am just more aware of it now that I am a mother of a teen. But I worry about today's teens.

I also wonder what the cause is. Is it that parents try to teach their kids these skills but the kids refuse to learn? Or is it because the parents never taught them? And if it's the latter, why not?

I would love to hear from parents, dads as well as moms, whether or not your teen (or tween or twentysomething) knows how to cook and/or do laundry and/or helps out around the house -- either via a comment or by taking the anonymous poll below.

I'd also be interested in hearing what you all knew how to do by the time you went off to college.

Does your teen...

For the record, I taught our daughter how to do laundry when she turned 13, before she went off to a sleep-away program -- and she is now responsible for doing her own laundry and putting it away. She also cooks and buys her owns clothes. We are still working on getting her to clean up.

Football! Beer! Sex! Pumpkin pie!

Finally, a blog post for everyone.

First, football. (And ladies, if you are not interested in me talking about a bunch of guys with no necks and upper arms the size of your waist in too-tight short pants constantly touching and trying to tackle each other all for a little pigskin, just scroll down the page a wee bit. I promise you will not be disappointed.)

So football. As many of you already know, yesterday afternoon the big story here in the New York City Metro Area (and probably in Tennessee, too, albeit for different reasons) was the New York Jets mowing down undefeated Tennessee for a Titan-ic upset (think crop duster and Cary Grant in "North by Northwest"). The stunning 34 - 13 upset now gives the Jets an 8 - 3 record, leaving them securely atop the AFC East. (Well, at least for another week.) Who'd a thunk it?

And, while I admit I am a wee bit disappointed that the Jets did not wear their New York Titans uniforms, I am not disappointed in the least with Brett Favre (who now has the most passing touchdowns in NFL history, passing Dan Marino -- and yes, probably the most picks, too), Leon Washington (that guy can MOVE), Laveranues (I rest my case) Coles, and the rest of Gang Green's performance today. Well done, Jets, well done.

As for the New York Giants... 10 and 1, baby -- and still leading the NFC! Giants. Could. Go. All. The. Way. (The crowd goes wild. Okay, I go wild. And the spouse. And, okay, probably several million Giants fans watching the G-Men put away the Arizona Cardinals last night, Eastern Time). Final score, 37 - 29. And they got it done without my man, Brandon Jacobs, who sat out the game with a knee injury; without Plaxico Burress, who had hamstring problems; and without David Tyree, the guy who made that amazing (and memorable) Super Bowl XLII catch. But you would have hardly known anyone was missing the way the Giants played yesterday.

I am definitely smelling Super Bowl (though it could just be leftover beer from last year's team-changing Big Game, which was also played at University of Phoenix Stadium).

And speaking of leftover beer...

As some of my readers may remember, this summer, while biking in the Pacific Northwest, I was introduced to Fat Tire Amber Ale, and quickly became addicted*. This addiction quickly turned into obsession when, upon my return to the Northeast, I discovered, you cannot get Fat Tire in the Northeast. Bereft and distraught (after discovering I could not even get New Belgium Brewing to ship me a case, nor could I find someone online who would ship me some), my dear friend, T. from B., who as far as I know isn't even that into beer, then took it upon herself to purchase and have shipped to me 20 22 oz. bottles of this nectar of the beer gods.

Beautiful, are they not? Talk about Drinkability. Mm mm.

Well, sadly, we are now down to eight bottles, two of which we are saving to give to my stepfather, who relishes a good beer, in a couple weeks. (And no, T. from B., this does NOT mean you need to order me more. Your original gift was more than generous.)

Besides, you know what too much beer leads to, right? Sex. Well, if you are lucky, guys. You know what else can lead to sex? Doing the dishes. (Hey, my man Obama is no fool.)

Just look at that picture. Is that sexy or what? Ladies, you know what I am talking about. The best part? I did not even have to ask the spouse to clean those filthy oven racks. He just donned his bright orange latex gloves and started scrubbing away, while our oven was self cleaning and we were watching the Jets game (see above). I think that behavior deserves a reward.

Which is why I made this:

That be mighty fine pie -- topped with the best homemade whipped cream you never had. (My secret: rum. And vanilla. Hmm. Guess it's not a secret anymore.)

Okay, technically, I made this delicious-looking (and tasting!) pumpkin pie because our neighbors (both of whom are Giants and Fat Tire fans) invited us over for a pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving feast yesterday, and we were tasked with bringing a pie and a vegetable. (I made a big autumn salad, even though it feels more like winter.) Also, the kid's been pestering me to make a pumpkin pie for years.

In all, it was a mighty fine Sunday. A win-win-win. (Great football. Great food. Great fun.)

Coming up next on J-TWO-O, things I am thankful for. Stay tuned...

12 NOON OFF-TOPIC UPDATE: This just in: Tiger Woods will no longer be forced to drive a Buick. According to reports, GM will no longer use Woods as a pitchman after this year, which is reportedly fine by Tiger as he hated being taken for an eighty-something driver and wearing those funny driving caps.

*A clarification: I am not technically addicted to Flat Tire (or any other beer or form of alcohol), though it sure felt that way during the latter part of the summer. It was a TURN OF PHRASE, a bit of hyperbole. Happy now, J1?

Really, what is so hard about bagging a bunch of groceries?

Granted, I have a master's degree (albeit in International Relations, not in Bagging). But seriously, do you really need an advanced degree, or even a college diploma, to figure out how to put a shopping cart's worth of stuff into three canvas bags so that one bag does not weigh 20 pounds more than the others?

Oh, and before you politically correct types start pointing out that a lot of baggers are mentally challenged and don't know any better, let me state for the record that I am not referring to those particular baggers, who often do a better job than the seemingly non-mentally challenged.

Why do I even care (or care enough to blog about bagging)? Because I have a really bad upper back/neck/shoulder problem. (One doctor diagnosed me with early stage cervical arthritis years ago. The same doctor whose response to my months of agony was to tell me to take two Aleve and call him the next week.) And if or when I carry anything too heavy, the pressure on my upper back and neck triggers a migraine, which sidelines me for hours or sometimes days. That's why. So I am extremely careful about the bagging of groceries.

To prevent the dreaded bagging problem, my past strategy was to sweetly tell the baggers at my local Stop & Shop (and other grocery stores I frequent) to distribute the weight between bags (which I brought), because I had a bad back, and even made helpful suggestions. And I swear they would look me straight in the eye, say "sure ma'am!" and then completely ignore me. One time I was so frustrated, I rebagged several items right there at checkout.

More typically, though, I choose lanes without a bagger and tell the checkout person that I will bag my own stuff, which usually elicits a "thank you!" Or I do self checkout. But even self checkout is not so "self" anymore, as I experienced today (and on some other days).

There I was, doing the early morning grocery run, rushing so I could get back to my home office in time to put my purchases away before starting in on my latest project (i.e., work), flinging my stuff through the scanner when a middle-aged male store employee came over and started to bag my stuff. "Thank you!" I sweetly said, quickly tossing him my bags, so I could return to scanning my items. In the process, I failed to mention my equal distribution request. And when I looked up a few seconds later, I saw that he had crammed all the heavy items into one bag and was staring at my third bag, which was empty, until he quickly shoved the last few remaining light items into.

I sighed inwardly, signed the pad, and hurried out, thanking the man as I passed him (while inwardly cursing him). When I got back to my car, about half a block away from prying eyes, I rearranged some of the items in hopes of saving my back some strain, asking myself "Why? Why is it that in a town full of reasonably bright, at least somewhat educated, more or less logical people, NO ONE knows how to strategically bag a bunch of groceries?"

I think the Europeans absolutely have the right idea: bring your own (preferably non-plastic) bags and bag your stuff yourself.

UPDATED 11:25 A.M.: The bad news: My interviewee just bailed on me. AGAIN. Though is supposedly going to call me later. The good news: lots of action this morning on the Puppy Cam!

UPDATED 6:59 P.M.: No headache so far, despite lugging. And I finally managed to nail down all my interviews for my next article -- and wrote another article in between interviews. Yup, pretty darn proud of myself. And all this hard work has earned me another trip to... the Puppy Cam! Gosh, they are cute. Oh, and a big THANK YOU to all the folks who weighed in on bagging (both here and offline). Still plenty of time to leave more comments, folks! Step right up!

Do the dishes? Yes, he can!

But will Barack Obama have to do the dishes now that he's the President Elect? Maybe, at least until the Obamas move into their new digs at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Don't know if any of you caught last night's 60 Minutes, which featured a lengthy Steve Kroft interview with Barack and Michelle Obama. It was a hoot. The spouse and I especially enjoyed watching the husband-and-wife dynamics on display, particularly on the subject of household chores.

Taken from the transcript:

Kroft: You told me that when you went off to Washington and made the decision to live there and when you came back to Chicago you had certain chores that you had to perform. You had to wash the dishes and make your bed.

Mr. Obama: Yeah.

Kroft: Are you free now on that front?

Mr. Obama: Well, I…

Kroft: Certainly there’s gonna be somebody else to wash the dishes and make your bed.

Michelle Obama: Yes.

Mr. Obama: Though sometimes it’s soothing to wash the dishes.

Michelle Obama: You? Since when was it ever soothing for you to wash the dishes?

Mr. Obama: You know, when I had to do it. I’d make it into a soothing thing.

Yeah, I find doing the dishes very soothing, too. How about you, ladies? (Must be all that Palmolive.)

Btw, my sister-in-law used to have a sign in her kitchen that read "No man was ever shot while doing the dishes." Unfortunately, it broke. And my brother-in-law hasn't done the dishes since. (Just kidding!) But seriously, Michelle may want to invest in one of these little aprons for Barack.